Chapter 5
CHAPTER 5
Nathan
The police interrogation lasted several hours, going round and round as I continued to not give them the answers they were looking for. Eventually, they were forced to let me go since they had no evidence and I hadn’t done anything wrong. Considering I hadn’t been the one to kill the model, that outcome wasn’t surprising. I was only annoyed that it took so long.
Agent Belden was especially livid as she watched me walk out the doors. I half expected her to pull her gun on me.
If she continued causing problems for me, I really was going to have to take care of her, along with whoever had killed the model at the fashion show. Whether it was a sudden act of passion, or premeditated murder, the killer’s actions were getting in my way, and had already brought law enforcement down on me.
As soon as I was free from the police station, I ordered my people to start their own investigation into the model’s murder. The police were never going to catch the killer while Interpol kept them distracted looking at me. If I wanted it done right, I’d have to do it myself.
That brought me to Monday, and my anticipated interview with Deacon. It was a formality, really. I’d already decided to hire him. However, I could already tell he was a man who valued his work, and he wouldn’t appreciate having a job just handed to him. He would want to feel like he earned it. Conducting an actual interview, a challenge he would have to surpass, would help with that.
Plus, I wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to play with him some more.
Since Las Vegas was one of my common stomping grounds, I had a permanent office in the city, but this wasn’t mafia business. At least, it wasn’t directly mafia business. Deacon’s role as Fantaisiste’s fashion designer would require nothing illegal. So, instead of my own personal office, I met him in Fantaisiste’s corporate office I’d set up in the city.
It was still fairly new, but it was staffed by my own people, all of which I knew and had vetted personally, from the security guards down to the secretary outside my office door. So, it didn’t surprise me that, although Deacon showed up on time for a meeting, it took nearly half an hour for him to actually make it through my staff and be allowed entry into my office.
I spent the time staring out the window, contemplating my new angle on a familiar city. The building was far enough away from the Vegas strip that I wasn’t overshadowed by the massive casinos and resorts, but close enough that their neon lights still reached me. I always preferred to be just off to the side, hidden in the shadows where people wouldn’t easily notice me.
So why did people keep trying to drag me into the light?
As I stared into the distance, I wondered what to do about the Interpol agent breathing down my neck.
For her to have shown up so quickly at the merest hint of a crime happening in my vicinity, she must have already been close by. It felt like I was being hunted and I didn’t like it. The coincidence of a model, who was actually the FBI director’s niece, dying at a fashion show I just so happened to attend, rubbed all my instincts in all the wrong ways.
Finally, there was a knock on my door and Deacon was allowed inside my office. Just beyond the doorway, I noticed a blonde woman peering inside like she wanted to follow him, but then she was cut off by the heavy door closing. Deacon didn’t seem to notice, but I knew that the door had locked behind him. It was just the two of us, alone in a soundproofed office, until I decided to open the lock.
“You know,” Deacon said with a smile as he approached my desk. “My assistant thought that you were fake and just lying to me. Her face when we got here, and it turned out to be a real office, was priceless. So, either this is the most elaborate hoax ever arranged, or she was wrong for once. I’m not sure which is more unlikely.”
Leaning back in my chair behind my desk, I stared up at him over my laced fingers. “Not a hoax. Please, sit.”
Holding a leather folder to his chest, which probably held images and samples of his work, Deacon looked around for a chair on his side of the desk but found none. He didn’t say anything but looked at me in confusion.
With a slight grin, I tapped the chair beside my own, which had gone overlooked.
An attractive blush spread over his cheeks, but he straightened his shoulders and came around to my side of the desk to sit beside me. “Here. I brought my portfolio. This Saturday’s fashion show had a very specific theme, so it wasn’t the best example of my overall work. My portfolio has a better general sampling, unless there’s something specific you’re looking for.”
I flipped through a few pages in the portfolio, mostly out of courtesy. I’d already seen his work on the runway and didn’t need any more proof of his skills.
“There is something specific I’m interested in.”
Pulling out a magazine from the drawer of my desk, I tossed it down on the desk. The front cover advertised the new spring collection of clothing from a brand called Minestra.
Deacon looked at me in confusion. “ Minestra ? Yeah, they’re not that old, but they’ve been making it big recently. What about them?”
“Just as a test, I want you to redesign a few of their outfits. Make something better that can compete with them in their own game.”
Although Deacon still looked confused, he was automatically pulling out a sketchbook and pencils stored in the back of the portfolio case.
“Like, right now? I mean, sure. I can sketch something out real quick, but it won’t be particularly good quality.”
“It doesn’t need to be,” I said, flipping open the magazine to the spread page in the middle that showed the most of Minestra’s new designs. “This is just a proof of concept, that your designs and abilities match what I need.”
His pencil was already tapping on the paper, eager to draw, but he hesitated. “All right, I can do this, but... first, I need to know why? You’re not up to something sketchy, are you?”
Yes, I was up to lots of things, but in this case I could actually answer honestly.
Well, mostly honestly.
Honesty was a novel concept in my life, and when presented with an opportunity for it, I jumped at the chance.
Placing my arm over the back of his chair, I leaned a little closer.
“A... colleague of mine did me a big favor a few years ago. I owe him. Now, the owner of this company...” I jabbed at the name Minestra written in metallic font across the glossy magazine page. “Is threatening him and he’s asked for my help. I bought Fantaisiste so I could compete in the same industry and...” Leaning in even closer so I was almost speaking directly into Deacon’s ear, I let my voice drop down into a pleasantly rough tone. “...take the bitch down a peg.”
As I’d hoped, Deacon visibly shivered. He was dressed a little more casually than the outfit he’d worn at the fashion show. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and I watched as goosebumps broke out over the skin of his arms.
I fought the urge to run my hand over his skin and soothe him like one would a frightened animal, leaning back in my chair to remove myself from the temptation.
Still, nothing could tear my eyes away as I watched the bob of the Adam’s apple in Deacon’s throat as he swallowed. The man managed to regain his composure quickly, and pulled the magazine closer just to give his hands something to do.
“Must have been a big favor, if you’re willing to buy a whole company and go to all this effort just to pay him back.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, though I kept the sound soft in respect for Deacon’s close proximity. I’d been told in the past that my laugh could be off-putting, even terrifying, up close.
“D’Angelo thrives on big favors. It’s practically how he makes his living. But yes, I owe him a lot, so I’m willing to do anything to protect him from someone threatening him. Plus, I was already toying with the idea of getting into the fashion industry, so if I can also make a profitable business at the same time, then it’s a win-win. To do that, however, I need a designer capable of outshining Minestra’s own designs. I think you could be that designer, but I’ll need to see the proof for myself before moving forward.”
Seemingly coming to a decision, Deacon nodded to himself and started sketching out some ideas. As he’d said, the drawings were quick and rough, just a suggestion of an idea rather than a polished presentation, but that was all I needed for now.
It took some time. Even the most proficient artists couldn’t pull something out of thin air. His pencil flew over the page, bringing recognizable forms to life with just a few lines. He even seemed to have his own style of shorthand symbols marking fabric types and other design elements that couldn’t be shown in black and white. It was a fascinating process, but I didn’t want to crowd him, so I tried not to stare too much.
With time to myself to think, I remembered a detail about the model’s death at the fashion show that I’d forgotten. Deacon had been the one to report the body, and apparently the victim had been wearing his missing dress.
“Did the police give you a hard time?”
“Hmm?” He made a vaguely questioning sound without looking up from the page he was working on.
“You found the body, and apparently, she was wearing your dress. I imagine the police had a lot of questions for you.”
Even when he looked up from the page, his fingers never actually stopped moving. He seemed to read the page like Braille, and continued to bring his vision to life.
“Surprisingly, no. I thought I was going to be in the police station all weekend answering questions, but after taking my statement and hearing my summary of what happened, they dismissed me. I haven’t heard back from them since.”
That was concerning. Even if Deacon wasn’t a suspect in the model’s death, the fact that she had been intended to present Deacon’s work meant that he should at least be a person of interest.
It seemed my instinct to investigate the case on my own had been right. So long as Agent Belden was focused on me, no one was going to look into anything else.
As these thoughts ran through my mind, Deacon had already returned to his sketchbook.
“It must have been shocking,” I said, keeping my voice gentle in case I was touching on a sensitive topic. “Finding a dead body like that.”
To my surprise, he just shrugged. “I didn’t actually find it, but the person who did find it was too busy screaming to actually do anything useful, so I reported it.” Placing his pencil down, he slid his sketchbook over to me. “Although, it certainly wasn’t how I pictured ending my night. Now, here, take a look at these designs. Do these match what you’re thinking of? Remember, these are just off the top of my head, so they aren’t final or anything.”
He seemed more nervous presenting me his designs than he did talking about the dead body he’d literally found two days ago. I was intrigued, but this wasn’t the right situation for me to pry. Instead, I simply picked up the sketchbook and flipped through the designs.
When sketching out an idea, many designers drew blank models standing in generic T-poses that exposed every element of the design. Deacon, however, drew his models in some sort of motion to show off how the garment would move with them. His drawings felt more alive than many of the actual outfits I’d seen on the runway at the fashion show.
“Perfect,” I praised him. “This is just what I’m looking for.” Smiling, I handed him back the sketchbook along with his portfolio. “Assuming the hiring paperwork all checks out, by the end of the week you can call yourself a member of my team.”
“Great,” Deacon said, though he had an odd look on his face. He stood up, looking down at me in an oddly similar pose to the way Agent Belden had tried to intimidate me, but there was nothing aggressive in his posture. “Now that we’ve got that settled, answer me this. Are you hitting on me?”
After everything I’d experienced in my forty-six years of life, I didn’t think I could be shocked by anything, but apparently, I was wrong. No one had ever asked me such a question so bluntly before, and I didn’t know what to say in response.
“I... would hope the answer to that question was obvious. I’ve not been subtle.”
Deacon nodded, agreeing with me, though the gesture seemed to be more for his sake than mine. “Yeah, I thought so. I just... wasn’t sure if you were being serious or not.”
Standing, so I no longer had to look up at him, I let my hands hang loosely at my sides to avoid reaching out to him or making any sort of accidentally aggressive move. “And if I was being serious? How would you feel about that?”
His mouth scrunched to one side as he thought, emphasizing the dimples on his cheeks. The slight beard on his face seemed like it was meant to hide those dimples, but they were too prominent to be ignored.
I also wouldn’t call his facial hair a beard. At most, I would call it nicely groomed stubble. Back in my home country, men traditionally wore robust beards several inches long at the minimum. When I’d shaved my own beard in order to fit in better with the western world, my face had felt cold for days. By comparison, Deacon was practically clean-shaven, though I knew that probably wasn’t what he was going for. His “beard” was likely meant to add strength to his face and keep him from looking too cute.
It was a useless attempt, especially when he made such endearing expressions that just made me want to pin him down and kiss him.
At such close proximity, when he finally looked up and met my gaze, I noticed the abundance of green and amber radiating out from the center of his hazel eyes, like the rays of a spring sun.
“If you are serious, then you need to be upfront,” he declared. “I don’t like playing games or beating around the bush. If you are interested in me that way, then... do something about it.”
I thought I was shocked a moment ago, but once again I was wrong. That was just surprise. What I felt now was true shock.
I’d been given an invitation I couldn’t refuse.
Quickly stepping forward, I backed him up until he pressed against the desk. Placing my hands on the desktop on either side of him, caging him in, I slipped my leg between his so our hips ground together.
“Mark your words,” I whispered directly into his ear. “I’m not a patient man. Once you invite me in, I won’t hesitate to take what I want.”
I watched the thoughts bounce around behind his eyes as he debated with himself, but after a moment, he grabbed the lapels of my suit and pulled me closer.
That was it. He was mine, and I wasn’t letting him go.